It took a bit of thinking to figure out why this time was different. Emily was picturing a home invasion and murder happening in nearby Choteau. Dilya had never had the structure to separate individual acts of violence from war violence.
Her youth in Uzbekistan had been under a police state run by the world’s worst dictator. She’d been six when five hundred protestors were herded into a dead-end street and the police snipers killed four hundred of them under presidential orders. That didn’t rate as his worst atrocity either. Her family’s eventual escape into the mountains of Afghanistan had seemed safe by comparison—until it wasn’t. America was her first experience that types of violence became separable.
She tried to think if there was anyone else she should have taken this problem to, but she couldn’t. So, she’d forge ahead as if this would impossibly end up okay.
“Firing from her bed, she left brain splatter of one attacker on a wall and a spray pattern and bullet embedded in the other wall commensurate with a through-and-through arm shot. No other marks to indicate that she herself was injured. She was taken. I came here to try to find out by who and to where.”
Emily took three slow breaths, releasing gentle clouds into the frigid Montana air, before speaking. “To use our Tac Room.”
Dilya shrugged. “It was nearby and it’s the most highly connected asset I can access.” The little room in the Henderson’s Ranch horse barn boasted many uses, including direct-class access to most of the world’s databases. “I got into the room, but I couldn’t get past the system security. You locked it down too hard. I guess that’s when it sent you an alert.”
This time Emily did sigh. “Did you even think of asking for help? Lauren? Claudia? Michael even?”
Dilya could only shake her head. She could hear Miss Watson’s voice to not make her mistake of being too much alone. In a crisis, who could she trust other than Emily? She’d chosen to shut out even Michael Gibson without questioning why.
“I didn’t need them to?—”
“Goddamn it, Dilya!”
She gasped. Emily never swore.
“Don’t be so stupid! It doesn’t suit you. No matter how skilled you think you are, you alone are far less effective than if you use a team. I gave up—” She waved a hand back toward the ranch.
Emily on the verge of tears? Dilya was even less prepared for that than her swearing.
“—so much. My daughters are growing up without me so that I can improve the teamwork of the Night Stalkers. So that our Spec Ops warriors can travel to the worst situations with some hope of coming back. That takes a team. Not a couple of pilots and a helo. It takes coordinated efforts of hundreds of people. You’ve got to think bigger than yourself. If you want to be a one-woman army, go ahead, but do me a favor. Dig your own goddamn grave before you go! And keep it far away from my family.”
She wheeled her horse away and turned for the ranch.
Dilya tried to follow, she honestly did. Even Wind Runner looked at her to see why they were still standing lost on the frozen foothills.
“That’s why I was asking you for help.” It came out as a whisper. Until this moment, she hadn’t thought about why she’d called Emily. Emily Beale had always been the best. And she built teams without even thinking. It was a skill that she had and Dilya definitely didn’t. Without Emily, she didn’t even know where to start.
13
Mark gathered her in his arms, again, when Emily tumbled off her horse.
Doug took Chesapeake by the reins and led her away as Mark carried her inside.
“Don’t let the girls see me like this.”
He didn’t hesitate as he carried her upstairs, undressed her, and tucked her into bed wearing her favorite nightgown—the thick flannel one covered with red cardinals and chickadees perched on pine boughs. When he went to leave, she kept a hold of his hand.
Mark kissed her, then settled one hip on the bed. “That bad?”
She nodded. “I yelled at Dilya. Swore at her.”
“Hey, you don’t even do that for me.” Her beautiful man managed to sound jealous, which almost made her smile—almost. Too bad she felt so awful.
“I left her on the high plain. Make sure she doesn’t leave. She needs help.”
“Any chance of me finding out what’s happening this time?”
Emily was exhausted enough to tell him despite him not being cleared for it. She could see by his eyes that he knew most of it, except the hard specifics and the most recent events. Their tiny team had been assembled to protect the institution of the government itself—identifying and blocking direct attacks against the highest levels of the executive branch. Their primary tasking was providing imminent-threat analyses to the Secret Service protection details embedded in and near the White House, without ever identifying themselves.
Mark nodded when she was done. “Hadn’t connected a couple of those to you, but I should have. I thought Dilya was at the center of what you people do in that room.”
“She’s a part of it. Yet she isn’t. Miss Watson was until last year. But she isn’t. I don’t know anymore. I’d long since handed off my part before I got the bump to command the Night Stalkers. The other three handle it.” Again, no need to explain which three. “Dilya said Miss Watson was taken. She’s probably one of the greatest security assets the country has. Her knowledge about everything from the CIA to the White House to—” the words threatened to choke her “—to our ranch. If she spills one wrong word… You… The girls…”
